


Keep A Tab Open

by Fortunato



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Business, Drinking & Talking, Gen, Guild politics, Video Game Mechanics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-09
Updated: 2016-10-09
Packaged: 2018-08-20 10:00:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8245126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fortunato/pseuds/Fortunato
Summary: They're called the 'Bonepuncher Gang' and he's their accountant. This would be decent job if any of these heroes actually did anything besides grab the money and run. But this time he's gonna nail the perp to the wall. Even if Bonepuncher the greatest gnome warrior to ever live herself doesn't care.





	

**Author's Note:**

> You ever wonder whoever is in charge of guild finances (in game) feels when another character explains 'I really really wanted that seahorse battle pet, it was so cute'?
> 
> Well, Cherree feels deeply unimpressed.

"The point," said Bonepuncher as she carefully counted out the gold coins, huge in her tiny hands, "is that it's good business to have somewhere to come back to. A place where you can be sure to be reached. And the Trade District works for us. So yes, Cherree, yes we're going to continue to budget renting a room here at the Gilded Rose." 

"I just think it would be better used on equipment repairs," said Cherree, scratching his frostsaber Berree's ears. "I never use it."

"That's because you're a night elf and you sleep in the dirt," responded Bonepuncher. She slid the coins into a small leather satchel. 

"Yeah, well what gnome talks about business? You're the right height but you're not green enough to be a goblin," said Cherree. He was in a sour mood after finding out that there was three thousand less in the guild (Mercenary group? Loose heroing collective? Freelance errand runners? Cherree wasn't sure what to think of the 'Bonepuncher Gang' as, but he sure as spit wasn't going to call it the Bonepuncher Gang to himself) coffers than there should have been. Thus far he hadn't found the culprit, as the note in the vault was sopping wet and the explanation contained in the ink had melted into a grey blob. It could have said 'haha, I have stolen your gold and there is nothing you can do to stop me' for all he could make out. 

He'd been camping out at the Gilded Rose for a week, eyes on the bank that was kitty corner to the inn to interrogate any member of the Bonepuncher Gang that showed up. He'd rather have been out hunting or taking jobs, but he took his position as accountant seriously. 

Only Bonepuncher, their leader, had been by. The note had not been from her. And she was here on business.

"Stop looking so sour, Cherree, turn those giant eyebrows of yours up, not down in a frown!" she said.

Cherree frowned deeper.

"There. That's our month's rent. And, by the way, staying here and skulking counts as using the room. And you didn't even have to pay for it," she said, hopping off the chair she was standing on to count. The inn table was just a bit past her sitting height limit. "I'll go deliver this to Miss Allison because I'm not a big purple miser."

"Who would just take that?" muttered Cherree, getting up to follow Bonepuncher. "It's a huge amount."

"If they had the authorization, it's fine with me. I don't give people access to our accounts if they're not allowed to use the rights they get, silly," she said, trotting along. Berree, his head high above hers, snuck in a little lick of her messy blue hair. A tricky maneuver as it involved dodging the giant axe strapped to her back.

"That damnable panda took five thousand last month to get that weird beer spirit. She hasn't even figured out how to get the ale out of it. None of you have any financial sense. None." Cherree wasn't sure what to make of Pandarens. They liked to drink and sleep. Sometimes they punched things very very hard. Odango did all three of those and also regularly took huge sums of money for her 'projects' and Bonepuncher had given him official warning to stop trying to police her about it. Bonepuncher didn't just hire fighters, she hired careers. Odango was an engineer and alchemist, and the work she did didn't come cheap. Cherree… well, he sewed together bits of leather he carved off animals. He did it very well, of course. He'd done it for centuries. But it cost him a lot less than _some_ guild members work.

"Don't your people use leaves as currency?"

"No," Cherree said flatly.

Allison the innkeeper was just finishing up talking with a customer, a hefty looking dwarf. She turned to them with a smile. Even Cherree's brooding hadn't put a dent in how happy she was to see him anytime he stepped into the main room of the inn.

"Here you go, Miss Allison," said Bonepuncher, holding up the bag of coins. "All ready for another month at your fine establishment!" She had to stand on her toes to present the coins as high as she liked.

"Thank you, dear, I appreciate quiet customers like you and your friends," said Allison accepting the payment. "After the business with all the demons, it seemed like your lot were the only ones _not_ leaving corpses all over the place."

"I left town for that," muttered Cherree.

"Always a pleasure doing business with you," said Bonepuncher. "Come on, you dopey elf, we're going for drinks and you're going to forget about the mysterious note. It wasn't their fault it was wet. I mean, it's weird it was wet, but they did try to tell you." 

"Mnnnng," grunted Cherree as Bonepuncher led him out by the hand. 

"Come on. Bouncy ponytail, big smiles. That's you," she said.

"That has never been me," he answered.

"The ponytail part is."

"It does not bounce."

"Yes it does. You need to jump in front of a mirror sometime. It is amazing."

"Ugh," he said.

"Did Grizellia come and keep you company at all while you did this?" asked Bonepunher as they walked the pavement to the old town district. She still had her grip on Cherree's hand.

"No," said Cherree. He didn't want to sound sullen, but he did. The elderly mage he enjoyed keeping company with had been absent the past week while on a trip with her son's family. He was too old to feel light hearted over someone, he told himself, but Grizellia made him feel close to it. They had a lot in common. Age. Dislike of young people. Attacking from a distance. Cats. It would have made his week of surveillance a lot more tolerable. She hadn't even teleported in for a few hours to say hello.

He hoped that didn't mean she'd been waylaid by something dangerous she had to protect her family from on the trip.

"Poor thing. I'll get you a dwarven stout to make the sadness go away," said Bonepuncher. They moved to the side to allow a woman with a raven flying in front of her walk past. Berree rumbled hungrily.

"And something made of boar for the kitty," Bonepuncher added. "I know what my fuzzy friend's favourite thing is, don't I." Berree rewarded her with another lick to the head. 

The general surrounding architecture changed as they entered Old Town. Cherree still didn't like it, he'd never really met a type of human architecture he did like, but it meant they were close to their destination and that ale was starting to sound enticing.

"Did you pick up our mail while you were lurking?" asked Bonepuncher.

"What, the portal mail?" he asked.

"Only if you've suddenly become a powerful archmage. Have you?" Bonepuncher asked, the giddy sound in her voice making Cherree suspect she wasn't being sarcastic.

"No." Flatly. Again.

"Oh," Bonepuncher deflated. With her high voice and bright colours, it was hard for Cherree to remember sometimes that her and gnomes like her were capable warriors capable of swathes of destruction to both property and budgets. But she was an established warrior long before Cherree had given up his career and business as a leatherworker and gone into heroism after a desire to wander had taken him. So in matters of leadership and power, he deferred to her. In keeping the accounts in the black, he wished she deferred to him.

"What mail?" he asked.

"Oh, bills. Business mail. Things like that. Stuff that people not hooked up to the system can use. Normal paper. The Gilded Rose is our business address too. Since Grizellia actually lives in Stormwind, she usually picks it up for us."

"There's been bills?" Cherree was aghast.

"I handle them. Don't worry about it."

"It's my job to worry about this!" He pulled his hand back from Bonepuncher's. "I'm our accountant!" 

Bills, he thought, covering his face. There's been _bills_ and she didn't think to tell him. That was another source of disappearing money solved.

"I didn't hire you to give you an ulcer, you know. I hired you because you can shoot the wings off a fly. It was just useful you could do math too. As long as we're not actively in debt, Cherree, you don't need to worry. And if we are in debt, go solve it by finding an ancient cursed ruby and return it to someone. Or something similar. That's how we make our money." Bonepuncher patted him on a muscled thigh. Cherree had worn his armour today, hoping that with Bonepuncher's appearance he could get an explanation and go out in the field today. His armour was a loincloth and half a shirt.

"Also?" she added, "You're allowed to take out money for a new wardrobe."

"It's good armour," he muttered through his hands on his face. "It's enchanted for protection."

"I think only Grizellia likes your armour," said Bonepuncher. "Please put pants on. I will fish for days to earn you enough to get pants."

He didn't dignify that with an answer, but he let her take his hand again. It was a quirk of Bonepuncher's. He thought she was just affectionate, but she'd revealed to him that staying close to a taller friend like this kept people from from stepping on her. At least he was useful there, he thought.

Once in the Pig and Whistle Tavern, Bonepuncher accepted a hand up to get onto the bar stool, rubbing the top of Berree's head with her foot as she sat. 

"Ahh, there. Two dwarven stouts! And make them taller than me!" she called to the bartender. Cherree sat beside her. The last time he was here he'd ended up, somehow, riding a nightsaber into a pack of Defias and it got blurry from there. He still had all his parts and so did Berree and the nightsaber, so he was pretty sure everything had turned out all right for one side of the confrontation. That was the problem, get some alcohol in him and he got an intense urge to wander as far as he could as _fast_ as he could. That was how he'd ended up from Kalmindor to Ironforge to meet Bonepuncher in the first place. There'd been a lot of bars and a lot of fuzziness in-between leaving Darnassus and where he'd ended up. 

It had been one of those months. 

"I'm keeping an eye on you," said Bonepuncher like she was reading his mind. "But if you decide you're off to Lakeshire or somewhere normal instead of this vendetta, I'm going to let you go. Plaguelands? No."

"Lakeshire has an excellent underground fighting ring," said Cherree. "I might do that." He took a sip of his drink.

"Do they sell pants?" asked Bonepuncher.

"Do you keep track of us?" he asked, to quickly change the subject.

"Sort of. I mean, I try to keep tabs on what jobs you take. Some of you, and I mean you specifically, are terrible at remembering to tell me when you get one, but usually I know where you've gone if we're going to be billing someone for it."

"So where is everyone?"

Bonepuncher took out a little notebook from somewhere in her armour. It was a medium sized notebook to her. She flipped it open to the middle. 

"Well, last I checked, Grizellia had nothing, you had nothing, Golya - you remember here, she's from space - had nothing except some sort of culinary contract in Darnassus, Muen - you love Muen don't you you two just get along so great - was contracted by the Shadow Pandas or something, and -"

"You don't need to give me everyone's jobs," said Cherree quickly. Not just for reminding him about Muen, the spaciest night elf he'd ever met who was somehow better than him at everything, including things he never even knew he couldn't do. And who went from no one to leading Alliance military in one week?" How had Bonepuncher even known to hire her ahead of time? The very existence of Muen hurt Cherree's head.

Bonepuncher continued blithely, "and Karlynne, that weird looking Draenei we just brought in was sent off to Northrend. I haven't heard back from him but I assume his ship made it."

"What's weird for a Draenei?" asked Cherree. "I mean… they have hooves, horns, and tendrils. I've seen Golya's."

"See, that's the thing," said Bonepuncher, taking another swig of her stout. "He's only got the hooves and he's a weird white colour. I mean, I don't want to sound like I'm making judgements, but I think he's part orc."

"And I think you're part goblin," said Cherree.

Bonepuncher giggled, at a pitch so high Cherree winced. She took a deep swig of her stout and wobbled on the stool.

"I like you," she said. "You'll find out why one day."

"Am I going to wonder forever and then find out it's just my hair?" he said, holding his drink between his hands. He'd only taken a few sips. 

"Nope! Another!" she slammed her drink down on the counter.

When they got back to the Gilded Rose that night, a tipsy Cherree was walking in a mostly straight line, with a singing, heavily armed gnome hanging over his shoulder.

"You're the best friend, that I ever had," she sang loudly. "My best friend! Ever! Had!" 

"This is my life," he said to Berree. "It's better than the old one." 

Berree nodded.

When Cherree entered into the guild's rented room at the Gilded Rose, he nearly yanked Bonepuncher's axe off her back to attack the stranger in the room, until he remembered what she'd told him - a draenei who looked like an orc. 

He was sitting on the edge of the bed holding a knife. That had nearly led to Cherree finding out if he could actually use an axe.

On closer inspection, the draenei was using it to whittle a totem.

"Hello," he said in a thick Draenei accent. "Is that Miss Bonepuncher?"

"Ah. Um. Not one you can talk to right now," said Cherree. He was impressed he'd managed to even have a tense moment to the sound of Bonepuncher's 'Best Friends Forever' song. He dumped her on the bed, armour and all, by the pillows.

"I'm Karlynne," said the Draenei, offering a hand. "I was hoping to catch her."

"Aren't you supposed to be in Northrend?" said Cherree, shaking Karlynne's hand. A job that far and that exotic couldn't be done that quickly, right?

"That is being the problem!" said Karlynne. "I took the wrong boat! I ended up at the bottom of the sea, fighting off hundreds of naga! I only just managed to get the last of the enchantment to let me breathe down there off! I was dripping everywhere! I need to find out if I still _have_ a job in Northrend!" 

Dripping. Water. The soaked note.

" **You** ," snarled Cherree with sudden savagery. "Why would you need three thousand gold!"

Karlynne jerked back. 

"I am being hired to be your tailor," he said, eyes wide and glowing. "I am needing to purchase cloths. I left a note!" 

"Oh," said Cherree.

Karlynne looked at Cherree.

Cherree looked back.

After a minute of this, Cherree asked: "Are you sleeping here tonight?"

"It is our room, yes?" replied Karlynne.

Cherree eyed Karlynne's spiny tail and pointy hooves. He decided there was no good to be had in being the big or little spoon.

"Well, I have business in Lakeshire. Remember to keep leaving notes," he said, and turned and left.

Bonepuncher snored.

**Author's Note:**

> Cherree and Berree's names are indeed pronounced Cherry and Berry.


End file.
